


anthology

by waspfactor



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:01:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29210790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waspfactor/pseuds/waspfactor
Summary: a collection of stories i wrote during the First Lockdown (trademark)
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. la lune

**Author's Note:**

> these were written during lockdown (circa 2020) and i like them! just posting them here so i dont forget abt them

one thing to note about her; she loves the moon. when i had first met her, a hot day by a vending machine with hyacinth blue jeans, i noticed her earrings were silver moons and her eyes were stars. when she had shown me her room, i found bookshelves lined with astrology texts and a tapestry of a tarot card held up by multi coloured pins.

one night, at one of our movie nights where the movie was not the main attraction, i caught her staring out the window. sheepishly, she admitted it, _i like the moon._ i told her i knew that already, rewarded with a laugh that was oh so pink.

she doodles stars on my test papers. i don’t get mad when the teacher marks me down for it and tells me to focus. _stop the doodling_ , one says with a sigh and i laugh at how wrong he is. one day, she draws a moon in blue ink in the corner. i handed in that paper with a torn corner.

i notice it after years of bad tea making (too much milk) and burnt toast. we sit on our couch, a tangled heap of limbs. it had been a long day, a long week really. i slide into her embrace, like a key and a lock. she holds me before sighing peacefully. _la lune_ , she whispers to herself, curling soft digits into my hair with practiced ease, like a cat flexing its claws. _la lune,_ she looks at me with a profound softness in her eyes and i feel myself melt away into nothingness under her gaze. she babbles on in french, butchering the language every 3 or 4 words. i keep a mental note on what corrections i’ll point out later but for now i let her use the wrong version of you. its perfect. shes perfect. _la lune._


	2. river

i ask him one day, what do you think of me. easy question but not for us. it has taken years of eggshell treading and careful planning to melt down the ice around him but it’s thawing, he’s thawing.

he doesn’t answer me until one night, when the night is hot and the sky is purple and pink and purple once more.

we’re in a town where the houses all look the same, with winding paths that tangle into one another. the people here have vacant eyes and even emptier heads. they walk with no purpose and they speak with no meaning in their words. it’s unnerving but this way, we can hide a little longer. it’s better for him like this anyways. we sit on a roof, my choice of course. he picks at an old scar on his hand. i’d tell him to stop, otherwise it’ll scar darker but I’m too content with the silence to break it.

the purple melts into darkness and with the arrival of the first star, he breaks the quiet. a river, he says and my laughter comes out before i can stop. he frowns at that, discouraged. i ask him to elaborate, letting out an apology along the way. a river, he repeats. they find a way. you could throw as much gunk as you would like into a river and it would still flow. unstoppable yet calm. you will continue to move long after the sun burns out. gentle with the potential for force. a river, he repeats once again, more firm than before. a content look crosses his face.

a river, i catch myself saying with a smile.


	3. alloy

the new girl turned out to be a good fencer. better than him! after their match, with bated breaths all around, she shouted out to him. his head snapped around, marching over with the force of an elephant. he was pure rage, face red and furrowed with hot red eyes. his fingers twitched sporadically and for a moment, i thought he might hit her.

but he did not. he towered over her and kept his eyes on her. he seemed as if he was going to explode. the girl did not back down and kept a knowing smile to herself before meeting his gaze. there was an icy coolness in her eyes, her breathing still.

i had a feeling this was no longer about the match.

my friend, a grin on his face and hair all wild, chuckles into the wind. “an unstoppable force meets an unmoveable object.”

i hum in agreement, still entranced by the two in front of us. the boy raised his fist, the fire behind his eyes still blazing. the referee (really just the laidback history teacher in a t-shirt) tried to split them up but alas, his pleas fell on deaf ears. even the boy’s ‘friends’ (he was incapable of having real companions) did not move, statues.

it was tense. all the air in the room had left, leaving a suffocating atmosphere.

a clap echoed from the other side of the gym, the principal. tall and blond, like a french fry. cool, dead eyes that looked beyond a person latched onto the scene in front of him. the clap got the boy’s attention as he lowered his fist and turned around. even looking at his father, he kept the murderous gaze. “father.” the word was like acid on his tongue.

the principal raised an eyebrow and turned around, heading back towards the rest of the school. the boy near enough scampered after him, ignoring the shouts from his posse. the girl stood there bewildered before smirking. she had won.


	4. labyrinth

i have been lost for a while now.

i’m in a city with big walls around it, grey obelisks of nothingness. no birds fly over but i hear them call out from far away. the people here, if you can even call them that, gasp and shake when spoken to. some have their tongues ripped out and teeth bashed in. sunken, red pits for eyes and ice white eyelashes. their skin is ash cloud grey and yet i see no veins. they walk mechanically, as if on schedule. none of them ever falter, never make a mistake.

i tried to disrupt one once, led him astray from the beaten path. it only resulted in it lashing out, stiff limbs flailing all over the place. i narrowly avoided its attacks before it crumpled to the ground, falling like a house of cards. it’s face contorted in pain before it’s pathetic excuse for eyes rolled back into its head and its severed tongue lolled out of its half sewn up mouth. i could only watch in horror as two others came over, picked up the corpse and walked off.

in the middle of the town is a marketplace. all they sell is inedible junk. rocks, clumps of wet newspaper held together with an orange substance, broken matches. the few food they do sell is rotten and mouldy, apples with more holes than honeycomb and meat greener than grass. the vendors themselves are covered in flies themselves as they sit catatonically, never blinking but always watching. 

through one neighbourhood of low rasps and was a door that led to outside. a black cat sat in front of it and it stared at me with all of its eyes. i tried to pick it up and instead it bit off my hand. i did not go back to the door.

i have been lost for a while now and i’m started to get worried.


	5. accident

the first-time father broke my fingers, it had been an accident. that’s what he told me, when I awoke 3 days later in my dimly lit bedroom with two of my fingers taped together.

a car door, he told me. an accident. didn’t mean to. won’t happen again. sorry. my mouth was too mercury to say otherwise.

the second time was also an accident. he told me so.

the third time. wasn’t an accident. couldn’t have been. a hammer to my right pinky is no accident. a wicked grin, one venomous to spoil butter. ~~one venomous enough to shatter the~~ ~~proximal phalange. my proximal phalange. me me me me me me mememememmeme~~ me.

but then he clarified. an accident.

oh ok.

fourth fifth sixth seventh eighth ninth tenth eleven twelve thirteen fourteen twenty twenty five thirty two. ~~his favourite number~~.

enough, said the red, blue and red again. stop.

a slam. your life is forfeit. eyes like the sahara.

when i sat across from him, a wall of glass separating us, i took in his appearance. unkempt, tussled, dark hair. purple bags. a dead look in once vibrant green eyes. an orange jumpsuit. ~~it always was his colour, i guess.~~ his stare was unwavering as he slowly began to drum his slender fingers. a familiar tempo.

one that i could not replicate. ouch.

i must’ve shown it. a smirk.

he won.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://wasp-factor.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/waspfactor) :))


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